


Do Not Disturb

by phenoob



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Video Games - Fandom
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Canon Compliant, Crack, F/F, I forgot Kirkwall's layout too, I posted this as a stoic exercise in self-humiliation or something, Plot Twists, Public Nudity, Sexual Content, Swearing, demon transformation, read: Complete Nonsense IDK Even
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:34:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26061985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phenoob/pseuds/phenoob
Summary: Someone interrupts Hawke's meeting with the Knight-Commander. As things go - literally - downhill from there, Hawke begins to think that all is not what it seems.
Relationships: Female Hawke/Meredith Stannard
Comments: 2
Kudos: 13





	Do Not Disturb

**Author's Note:**

> I'm new to writing and the fanfic world. This is the result of a joke/shitpost exchange with my friend, who told me to post it here. It's still a shitpost in essence. Not to be taken seriously, like, at all.
> 
> Ratings confuse me, I went with mature since I figured explicit would falsely advertise this as porn. But there is sex, so...beware?
> 
> edit: I fixed some formatting mistakes that were irking me for some time, hopefully ao3 doesn't count this as an actual update.

_Thump. Thump._

Dwarven salesmen have a tool for everything, Hawke mused, her bare torso pressed against the Knight-Commander's desk — whether it's to mince fruit, keep socks from slipping, or penetrate a partner while lacking the requisite member. She started to wonder if they sold something to keep the desk from wobbling, too, but the growing sensation in her loins brought her attention eagerly back to the matter at hand.

_Thump. Thump, thump, thump — knock-knock._

They both froze mid-thrust. `One moment,' Meredith called in the direction of the door, and pulled out. Rude, Hawke thought. She could've asked for two moments and finished what she'd started, first. Resting her chin on her fist, Hawke watched sullenly as Meredith picked up a garment from the pile on the floor, and — to Hawke's horror — used it to wipe the sweat from her forehead, discarded it, and headed for the door stark naked except for the phallus strapped to her hips.

The click of the door handle wrenched Hawke from her stupor of disbelief. Lightning-quick, she hid beneath the desk, peering through a hole in the intricate woodwork. Her mind became a roster of the most likely visitors. Cullen — he'd be struck blind. Elsa — still messed up, even if she wouldn't react. Orsino — the door swung open. It was Orsino. Oh, no.

Before the First Enchanter could process what he saw, Meredith spoke evenly, not one note in her voice to suggest there was anything unusual about her nudity or the strap-on jutting proudly in front of her. `First Enchanter. I hope you'll make this brief, whatever it is. I have a long, hard task to finish.'

Hawke had to roll her eyes at that last part. If it even was an uncharacteristic attempt at wordplay. Meredith sounded as dead-serious as ever.

Orsino opened his mouth to speak, but managed only a shaky breath. Eyes wide, mouth gaping, he looked just the way Hawke felt. His eyes grew still wider — too big for his narrow elven skull, it seemed — until they appeared as big as dinner plates.

They really were as big as dinner plates. And full of ire, two blazing furnaces set in a horned skull. Hawke took in the rest of Orsino's appearance: his teeth, long and sharp like a dragon's, set in a bestial snarl; his feet cloven, his hands clawed. He was no longer an elf, but a demon of enormous bulk that dwarfed Hawke and Meredith both.

So this is what it takes to turn the First Enchanter into an abomination, Hawke remarked, as bewildered by her own nonchalance as by what transpired. Had Meredith planned this? No, even she couldn't have. Hawke awkwardly crawled from her hiding place to retrieve her staff, wondering how Varric would sanitize this part of their tale. If anyone lived to tell it.

But instead of ripping them both to shreds, the demon that was once Orsino looked from Meredith's eyes, to her strap-on, and fled.

Meredith chased. Hawke followed.

Everything seemed to happen at once. Their small procession became a demented parade, Templars pursuing with swords at the ready, Chantry sisters shielding their faces and muttering catechisms as they followed in spite of themselves. The parade trailed from the Templar Hall, to the Gallows courtyard, and eventually into Hightown, yet Orsino showed no signs of slowing down, and Meredith wouldn't let him out of her sight. Now all sorts of people joined the throng — nobles, servants, guardsmen, all of them drawn to the chase while keeping a wary distance, stumbling over each other, covering children's eyes.

The phrases Hawke made out above the din were all the same.

`Demon!'

`—gone mad—'

`—Dwarves selling them—'

`—really the Knight-Commander?'

Hawke had to keep up, or the crowd would swallow her whole. It was a small comfort that her two companions undoubtedly drew most of the attention.

Orsino was a formidable creature, moving in savage leaps and bounds that left a trail of uprooted cobblestones and market stalls reduced to rubble. Such a demon would flee from nothing short of an Old God.

No Old Gods followed, though, only Meredith. Naked and unarmed Meredith. She doesn't seem to mind her boobs flopping, Hawke thought, unable to say the same for herself. Or the straps chafing her groin, or the imminent sunburn.

In fact, the chase seemed only to fill the Knight-Commander with zeal. That was what Hawke gathered from her ongoing monologue about the dangers of magic and the Templars' duty to Kirkwall, peppered with sudden outbursts of verses from the Chant of Light, insults directed at Orsino, and scarcely a pause to catch her breath. Maybe Thrask was right. Maybe she was a bit mad.

Hawke followed as Orsino and Meredith razed a path through Lowtown, then Darktown, then the Deep Roads beneath, and finally the mouth of a recondite network of tunnels that Hawke had never heard of. Even the most fervent spectators seemed content to stay behind, now.

Meredith's voice gradually faded to silence in the pitch-darkness, along with the scraping of Orsino's claws and hooves. Hawke still sensed the others running just ahead, but she may as well have been alone, enveloped as she was in darkness dense enough to block out sound. How she even knew where to step without tripping over her own feet was a mystery.

Hawke stumbled in mockery of that thought. Stepping forward to regain her balance, she bumped into Meredith, skin pressing against skin. The seemingly-endless chase had ground to a halt. A little guiltily, Hawke relished the contact, reminded of what had preceded this whole escapade — wait, seriously? Fucking? In her office? In the _morning?_

The silence broke.

`Ow, Meredith, that was my foot.'

It was Orsino's voice. His ordinary voice, from before the grisly transformation.

`Your foot isn't among my chief concerns,' Meredith said. Orsino continued as if he hadn't heard.

`And this is awkward, but you're kind of poking me with that ... _thing._ '

Hawke laughed heartily at that. She thought she might even hear the others laughing, too. But no sooner had she regained her bearings than a realization struck her like an arrow in the back: none of this made any. Fucking. Sense.

Hawke screamed. Then she woke.

Hawke sat up in bed as though propelled by springs. Once reality had fully settled around her, she slumped with a heavy sigh. `That was one fucked up dream,' she murmured, and rose to prepare for another dull trip to the Gallows.


End file.
